I was broken before I met Sebastian Pryor, but he decimated me. I swept the ashes of myself into a pile that I kept safe for thirteen years. Believe me it wasn’t pretty, oh but people thought we were perfect. I hate myself most days. I hate that I feel for him as much as I loathe who I’ve become with him. This story is hard to hear. You know what the worst part is? You’ll see part of you in me. You’ll hate that. You won’t tell anyone.

My story is about cracks. A description or telling of how cracks in a marriage, a life, a personality, a heart and a mind begin and continue for years without anyone knowing. You don't always see what causes the fissure, but you feel it. Can you remember who you were before all of this started, before your life became a jumble of deceit, longing and regret?